


Quake at the Sight (Divine Grace Remix)

by Chicklet_Girl



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicklet_Girl/pseuds/Chicklet_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla discovers Christmas, and some other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quake at the Sight (Divine Grace Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monanotlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Quake at the Sight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/176123) by [monanotlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa). 



John is about halfway through his not-quite-ham sandwich when Teyla appears with her own tray. “May I join you?” she asks, like John would say no. Even if he didn’t like her a lot, he wouldn’t say no, but that’s not really the point. He smiles and indicates the vacant chair across from him, using that open-handed _be my guest_ gesture that, apparently, is universal, because she sets down her tray while sliding onto the bench seat in one fluid movement.

“How are you?” John asks, like he hadn’t seen her a few hours earlier during their workout. Well, _workout_ might be stretching it. Their sessions with the bantos rods are more Teyla kicking his ass and John feeling discombobulated and really glad she’s on their side.

“I am well, thank you,” Teyla replies. “I have been speaking with Dr. Pugh about Christmas.” Pugh is head of Sociology, mostly nice but with pedantic tendencies, especially about religion. “He says it is the celebration of the birth of Christ?” She stirs some Athosian berries into her yogurt.

“Yep, it’s Jesus’ birthday,” John says, taking a drink of water. “Did Pugh explain who Jesus was?”

Still stirring, Teyla says, “Oh yes, he spent much time explaining the origins of Christianity,” arching her eyebrow in a way John thinks means Teyla found Pugh just as tiresome as everyone else does. He can read her pretty well most of the time, but her sarcasm can be a bit subtle. “The story itself is most fascinating – the son of God being born in humble surroundings, and visited by kings, and the star that guided them to Bethlehem.”

John finishes chewing his latest bite of sandwich. “What got you talking about Christmas?”

“Lieutenant Cadman received a package that contained a Christmas present from her sister. Laura’s explanation seemed a bit muddled, so I asked Dr. Pugh to explain it further.”

“You probably got more explanation than you bargained for, huh?”

“John,” she chides, “there is no need to be rude. But yes,” she sighs. “It was a bit overwhelming, and I am slightly confused about Dr. Pugh’s contention that Christmas usurped another holiday called Yule. It seems there are many Christmas traditions that were adapted from Yule traditions. Why would they do that? Dr. Pugh seemed to think it was an attempt to convert people to Christianity from paganism, that by connecting the existing traditions to a new religion, people would convert more easily. Do you think that is true?”

John sighs inwardly. He thinks religion is great for the people who want it, but he’s never felt particularly drawn to it himself. “I don’t really know much about that, Teyla. Pugh and the other sociologists are probably the best people to ask.” She looks a bit disappointed, so John continues: “But I do like the eating and the presents.”

“In my opinion, that is the best part of a feast day,” Teyla says with a smile.

“One year when I was a kid, my mom gave me a new saddle for my horse,” John says, trying to keep from sounding wistful and pathetic.

“From the look on your face, I believe it was a well-chosen gift,” Teyla says gently.

“Uh, yeah.” John feels a little sheepish about being so obvious. But it had been a great day, showing Thunder the new saddle so he could smell it, making sure the new cinch wasn’t too tight. He remembers the way his and Thunder’s breath had shown up as plumes of white in the crisp air. They’d picked their way through the new snow, John resting his hand on the horn while the other held the reins. Thunder had been a really good pony.

He looks down at his tray and realizes he’s eaten everything but the apple. He glances at his watch and says to Teyla, “Sorry, I’ve got to run to a meeting with Lorne.”

“That is quite all right, John,” she says. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

“Yeah, me too,” he blurts out, before picking up his tray and leaving.

**---**

Teyla twirls, bringing both bantos rods to bear on John’s shoulder, and when he twists out of the way, she whams her heel into the back of his knee and down he goes, onto his stomach. He rolls over and looks at her, impressed to see that she’s barely breathing hard. Ronon is a whomper who uses pure size and strength to take care of sparring partners and enemies alike; Teyla is so graceful you end up almost thanking her for kicking your ass.

John climbs to his feet and gets into a fighting stance, trying to calm his breathing. “What was that you were saying?”

“Sergeant Liebgott told me during our run this morning that he celebrates a holiday called Hanukkah at this time of year, not Christmas.” She’s watchful but serene, and John knows that no matter what move he makes, she’ll anticipate it.

“Well, that makes sense. He’s Jewish.”

“Yes, he explained that. There are many differences, but I was struck by the similarity between Hanukkah and Christmas. And Yule, for that matter,” Teyla says, moving forward so fast John barely has time to intercept her sticks with his. They pause momentarily, sticks and wrists entangled, then free themselves and step back from each other.

“What similarity is that?” John’s genuinely confused, which distracts him from Teyla’s next attack. A quick blur of action and he’s on his back on the mat. Again.

“The Hanukkah menorah. The Christmas star. Burning the Yule log.” His confusion must show on his face, because Teyla smiles gently and offers him a hand up. “Light, John. Light, in the darkness of winter.”

**--**

Which is why John isn’t all that surprised when he and Rodney run into the gateroom and see Teyla hanging from one of the upper railings by her knees, as comfortable twenty feet off the floor as a kid on a jungle gym.

“Teyla, how could you let yourself fall in with these morons?” Rodney shouts. “They plugged those lights directly into the city’s power grid! I’ve been running all over restoring power!”

John wraps his hand around Rodney’s upper arm. _Whoa, again with the biceps_ he thinks, before saying, “C’mon, Rodney, it’s _Christmas_. You should be full of holiday cheer. I _know_ you’re full of Zelenka’s special cookies.” John watches Rodney clench his jaw, then relax. He turns just in time to see Teyla do a vertical sit-up so she can grab the railing between her knees and pull herself up and over onto the balcony.

She comes down the stairs toward them. “The lights are pretty, are they not?” she asks, beaming. “Thank you for resolving the power issues, Rodney.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Rodney’s voice goes up at the end, like he’s uncertain about how to be gracious, and then he recovers. “You’re such an enabler. Your people don’t even observe Christmas.”

“Ah, but we do observe _Lumenshin_ , the midwinter feast. There is what Lieutenant Cadman calls a bonfire, and special treats for the children. Of course, it is not midwinter here on Lantea now. In a few months, you will see. John can explain. If you will excuse me, Chuck has asked for my assistance with something.” Teyla walks off, leaving John and Rodney in her wake.

Rodney looks over at John. “Well, if we’re out of emergencies, I’m going back to the lab to do some real work.”

John looks at his watch and calculates the Lantean time based on the Earth time. “Want to grab lunch first? There’s turkey teriyaki….”

“Ew.”

“…And sorta-plum pudding. In cups.”

“Cups?” Rodney has a thing for individually-wrapped snacks. His reaction to the arrival of last month’s shipment of string-cheese packets had been slightly frightening to behold.

“Cups.”

Rodney sighs, looks toward the ceiling in what John has come to recognize is his way of turning his thoughts inward. “I suppose it would be more efficient to have lunch now, then spend the entire afternoon in the lab, rather than break up my time.”

“Yes, much more efficient,” John says, heading toward the mess. It occurs to him he has a few _Boží milosti_ in his room, wrapped up in a handkerchief. If the almost-plum pudding doesn’t work out, those should do for Rodney’s sweet tooth. After all, it _is_ Christmas.


End file.
